


Almost Is Never Enough

by Scarlet_Chambers95



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Longing, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Wedding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 09:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17342513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Chambers95/pseuds/Scarlet_Chambers95
Summary: One year after that incredible summer and Elio receives an invitation to Oliver’s wedding. Old feelings reignite, loyalties are tested and chaos ensues.





	Almost Is Never Enough

**Author's Note:**

> First ever attempt so please be gentle! Not an original premise but I couldn’t get this out of my head until I wrote it down. 
> 
> Oddly inspired by Ariana Grande’s song ‘Almost Is Never Enough’ because I cannot seem to listen to it without thinking of these two anymore. 
> 
> Enjoy! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

He remembers the day the invitation arrived like it was only yesterday.

It was a cold Wednesday morning; the sun had fought a losing battle against a scatter of rain clouds and the usually vibrant Crema landscape had taken on a decidedly grey hue despite it being the middle of July. In short: it was unexpected, bleak and entirely miserable. It was the perfect day for an invitation of this nature to arrive.

He had heard the commotion from upstairs, the ooh’s and ahh’s of his parents as they chatted excitedly about travel plans for the upcoming nuptials. The knot in his stomach that he had been steadfastly ignoring for the past year had pulsed and it was then that he knew in his soul what his brain had wished to not be true.

It was official. 

He was getting married. Oliver was getting married to a person that wasn’t him.

He had considered avoiding the issue but had swiftly come to the conclusion that delaying the inevitable had never gotten him anywhere in the past so why should it do so now?

On weak knees, he had dragged himself down the stairs and into his father’s study. The initial sparkle in his parents’ eyes had immediately dulled the moment they saw him although their smiles remained firmly in place as they passed, and he took, the invite with shaking fingers.

The calligraphy was elegant and precise (although painted a garish gold that Elio immediately sensed had not been selected by Oliver) and the words inscribed had been burned into Elio’s memory the moment his eyes ran over them, echoing around and around his head, ridding him of any hope of a restful slumber for the weeks following its receipt.

‘Dear Samuel Perlman and family,’

He would recognise that scrawl anywhere - how many hours had he spent obsessing over the draft passages of his book while it was still only a fracture of the artwork it had eventually become? 

And family? Did he disgust him so much that he could not even bear to write his name?

‘The honour of your presence is requested at the marriage of Oliver Ackermann and Julia Levinson on the fifteenth of September nineteen eighty four. 

The ceremony will be held at the Levinson Estate and will begin promptly at two o’clock. 

Please confirm your attendance at your earliest convenience.’ 

Elio felt his heart flutter and his cock twinge simultaneously when he realised he had never known Oliver’s surname. All of that time shared and not once had he ever asked and there it was in black and white before him. Ackermann. He let his eyes soar over it; soak in each junction, curve and syllable and send the new information straight into his core for safe keeping.

His mind made quick work of the maths. The ceremony was due to take place in just 59 days. Only 59 mundane, colourless more days and then the only man Elio had ever truly loved would be waiting patiently under the chuppah for his blushing bride, ready to sign the contract that would promise him to her for the rest of his days and effectively close the small, irrelevant chapter of his life that had ever included Elio. He would be no more than a distant memory that Oliver thought of fondly and fleetingly.

His bride would walk down the aisle and then they would join their hands in marriage and everything would be perfect; smiles and laughter to spare, proud parents looking down on their handsome son and his stunning Jewish bride. All would be well, the stars would align and the world would make sense again.

What complete and utter bullshit.

Elio swallowed the lump in his throat and tried in vain to numb the physical ache that spread through his chest as he thought of a life that had no chance of Oliver being in it. Although he had not seen Oliver for almost a year, and had not heard from him since that damning telephone conversation last Hanukah; there had been a small part of him that had hoped, no matter how much he tried to deny it to himself, that there was still a chance for them as long as Oliver was not actually married. That one day Elio would come home, walk through that same door that he had walked through a thousand and one times and there he would be, waiting for him on the other side with nothing more than a suitcase, an apology and a profession. His Oliver, coming back to collect what was rightfully his; heart, body and soul.

The day the invitation arrived was the day Elio knew for certain that things like that only ever happened in fairytales and that, in real life, you don’t get the ending you deserve, but the ending that is most appropriate. 

He had provided little more than a curt nod to his parents, a sign of his acceptance to attend, before retreating to the privacy of his room to lick his wounds in peace. 

He would go to that wedding and he would smile and participate in all of the necessary conversations. He would be civil and maintain his composure and play the part of the perfect guest and once it was over, he would pack up his suitcase, return to Italy and finally work at moving on for good - at putting all thoughts of Oliver behind him. It was only fair. 

That revelation had occurred 57 days ago.

It was now 13 September 1984 and Elio stood with his parents and his suitcase at the foot of the Levinson Estate. As it transpires, Oliver had called a week or so after they had received the invitation and insisted that they came up a couple of days early and stayed with the wedding party in one of the many rooms of his wife’s family home. He had explained that a number of guests were coming early and that it would be just great if they could all have a chance to catch up before the hustle and bustle of the wedding and its guests polarised his time. Naturally, Samuel and Anella had been delighted and had accepted the invitation on his behalf. Wonderful. A nice long weekend spent watching the love of his life be utterly and completely smitten with someone else was exactly the kind of retreat that Elio needed.

“Isn’t it Elio?” He was quickly snapped out of his reverie at the sound of his father’s voice.

“Sorry?” 

“The house. It’s gorgeous isn’t it?” Elio had to refrain from rolling his eyes at his father’s enthusiasm. It could hardly be called a house - a palace would be more fitting.

The Levinson Estate was a thing of beauty for sure; with smooth, alabaster walls that stretched for what seemed like miles and ornate balustrades which looked like they had been carved by Rinaldi himself. A large marble fountain dominated the centre of the driveway and the hedges framing the gardens were trimmed to an edge of perfection that Elio did not know was humanly possible. The whole place screamed of wealth.

“Si, papa. Bellissimo.” Elio struggled to picture Oliver in this backdrop. Sure, it was clear that Oliver came from a prestigious family but this degree of ostentation just didn’t seem like him at all.

Although that’s assuming that Elio ever really knew anything about him. At the time he had been so sure, so sure that he knew exactly what Oliver was thinking and feeling and wanting just by catching his eye.

But that was a whole other lifetime now. The more details Elio discovered about his new life the further he felt from him. 

A man soon came, assisted them with their bags and escorted them to their rooms; Samuel and Anella being on the first floor and Elio being stashed away on the second floor.

‘Like a dirty secret’ Elio thought with a twinge of mirth as he scanned the bedroom. He had been left at the door with his suitcase and instructions to join the rest of the wedding party in the conservatories, however he was quite content to waste as much time as humanly possible before coming face to face with the farcical that was no doubt taking place downstairs. 

The bedroom had little furnishing but was by all means immaculate. Double bed, desk, wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a lovely (tacky) painting of a fruit bowl above the bed.

Maybe he could just hid out here in this room for the majority of the weekend. Feign a headache and dwell in his own misery under what he was sure was Egyptian cotton bedsheets. Might make this entire experience bearable.

He lifted his suitcase onto the bed and was about to unpack when he heard a gentle rap on the door.

He knew who it was before he turned. The familiar smell of sandalwood and juniper invaded his senses and he forced himself to clear his throat and compose himself before he turned and came face to face with the man that still held such an irrevocable hold over his heart.

Before he met the gaze of those blue orbs that had been the star of his wildest fantasies and darkest nightmares. 

“Elio?” 

He swallowed and turned. 

Oliver.

Oliver, Oliver, Oliver.


End file.
